Название: Anne Shirley (Complete 14 Book Collection)
Автор: Люси Мод Монтгомери
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 9788075833075
isbn:
Marilla looked curiously at Anne when the latter entered the kitchen.
“Who was that came up the lane with you, Anne?”
“Gilbert Blythe,” answered Anne, vexed to find herself blushing. “I met him on Barry’s hill.”
“I didn’t think you and Gilbert Blythe were such good friends that you’d stand for half an hour at the gate talking to him,” said Marilla with a dry smile.
“We haven’t been — we’ve been good enemies. But we have decided that it will be much more sensible to be good friends in the future. Were we really there half an hour? It seemed just a few minutes. But, you see, we have five years’ lost conversations to catch up with, Marilla.”
Anne sat long at her window that night companioned by a glad content. The wind purred softly in the cherry boughs, and the mint breaths came up to her. The stars twinkled over the pointed firs in the hollow and Diana’s light gleamed through the old gap.
Anne’s horizons had closed in since the night she had sat there after coming home from Queen’s; but if the path set before her feet was to be narrow she knew that flowers of quiet happiness would bloom along it. The joy of sincere work and worthy aspiration and congenial friendship were to be hers; nothing could rob her of her birthright of fancy or her ideal world of dreams. And there was always the bend in the road!
“‘God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world,’” whispered Anne softly. softly.
ANNE OF AVONLEA
II. Selling in Haste and Repenting at Leisure
VI. All Sorts and Conditions of Men … and women
X. Davy in Search of a Sensation
XVI. The Substance of Things Hoped For
XVIII. An Adventure on the Tory Road
XXIII. Miss Lavendar’s Romance
XXIV. A Prophet in His Own Country
XXVII. An Afternoon at the Stone House
XXVIII. The Prince Comes Back to the Enchanted Palace
XXX. A Wedding at the Stone House
I. An Irate Neighbor
A tall, slim girl, “halfpast sixteen,” with serious gray eyes and hair which her friends called auburn, had sat down on the broad red sandstone doorstep of a Prince Edward Island farmhouse one ripe afternoon in August, firmly resolved to construe so many lines of Virgil.
But an August afternoon, with blue hazes scarfing the harvest slopes, little winds whispering elfishly in the poplars, and a dancing slendor of red poppies outflaming against the dark coppice of young firs in a corner of the cherry orchard, was fitter for dreams than dead languages. The Virgil soon slipped unheeded to the ground, and Anne, her chin propped on her clasped hands, and her eyes on the splendid mass of fluffy clouds that were heaping up just over Mr. J. A. Harrison’s house like a great white mountain, СКАЧАТЬ